


04:10:02

by flirtygaybrit



Series: Superbat Writing Challenges [2]
Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Cinematic Universe, DC Extended Universe, Justice League (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Wayne Hangar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 04:07:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12786627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flirtygaybrit/pseuds/flirtygaybrit
Summary: When Clark first comes to the hangar, he doesn't speak to Bruce.The invitation is meant to provide him with an unparalleled educational experience. Learning takes time and patience. Bruce has faith that he’ll adapt quickly.





	04:10:02

When Clark first comes to the hangar, he doesn’t speak to Bruce.

The hangar is a relatively new extension of the familiar cave he’s so used to shutting himself away in, but it’s an open and empty space; the sounds of running engines, heavyweight machinery, and handheld tools tend to carry and echo when he works. Aside from disturbing the locals in their roosts, the noise makes it difficult to carry on a steady conversation in the midst of a repair or maintenance project. More often than not, Bruce is too occupied for that anyway. Whether he’s on a hydraulic lift with his head and shoulders buried in the Flying Fox’s underbelly or welding together a series of armoured plates for the Batmobile, it’s easy for him to forget that there’s even anybody around him. 

Bruce doesn't get many visitors down here. Usually it's just Alfred. Sometimes Diana, when she deigns to travel to meet with him. Neither Alfred nor Diana are strangers to the single-minded determination with which Bruce approaches his projects, but for anybody who is not Bruce or Alfred or even Diana, entering the hangar is like entering the Louvre. The Batcave and its extensions have a very specific set of rules: don’t touch anything; don’t wander off the main path; listen to the tour guide; don’t touch anything; respect the history of the main attractions and the work put into each; and, most importantly: don’t touch anything. 

Usually Bruce manages to deliver his spiel without interruption, and usually people listen.

Clark, however, isn’t a regular visitor. He’s spent time in the Batcave over the past few months with either Bruce or Alfred chaperoning, but the invitation is meant to provide him with an unparalleled educational experience in the world of transportation, weaponry, and other major branches of Bruce’s many side projects. Learning takes time and patience. Bruce has faith that he’ll adapt quickly.

He brings Clark to the hangar frequently often spending hours walking him through the various pieces of machinery that he utilizes most often, yet even with Alfred’s dry humour and his rapport with Bruce, the conversation remains overwhelmingly one-sided. Clark only observes. Bruce tries to be understanding about it; he knows that there’s a fair amount of information to take in. It’s all a matter of letting Clark have time to process everything, and ultimately, having a receptive audience simply allows Bruce to focus on what he needs to do. Luckily, there’s something different for Bruce to work on each time he shows up, so even narrating his work doesn’t become monotonous; Clark simply hovers nearby and observes, moving in occasionally for a better view and providing a light source as Bruce tends to a number of mindless tasks; under Clark’s supervision, Bruce tinkers with the Fox’s engine, replaces an old recoil mechanism in a heavy-duty grappling gun, replenishes the ammunition stores in the Batmobile, and monologues his way through a number of minor lessons that become less about bodywork and more about encouraging Clark to speak to him.

_It’s important to always keep working. That’s why you’re here with me,_ he tells Clark, who has been watching idly as he sharpens the steel edge of a batarang. _Maintenance is important for machines and tools, just as it is for relationships. Upkeep is key. If you stop for even a second, you’ll start to fall behind._

Clark doesn’t seem to have anything to say about that. Bruce isn’t sure that Clark understands what exactly he’s referring to. He turns back to the batarang and drops the conversation.

The silence surrounding them is by no means tense. It doesn't stop Bruce from wanting to break it.

*

It takes precisely two weeks for Clark to pick it up again.

“It looks like you’re starting to fall behind.”

Bruce is on his back, checking the sealant on the underbody of the Batmobile for major abrasions before he moves onto inspecting the secondary weapon bay. He can see the red toes of Clark’s boots hovering just above the ground a few meters away; had he not known Clark was with him, the voice would’ve startled him enough to make him drop his flashlight.

“Really,” Bruce says, clicking off the light.

“You’re usually done inspecting your vehicles by now. It’s nearly two in the morning.”

Bruce wets his lips, still looking in the direction of Clark’s feet. It’s not an incorrect observation, but it’s not quite what Bruce had expected to hear from him. If he’d known Clark was timing his vehicle inspections, he would have tried to get it done sooner. 

He slides out from beneath the vehicle and sits upright.

“I was busy earlier this evening,” he says, turning to the side. He’s somewhat stiff tonight; he grimaces as he turns and discovers that Clark has already drifted away to the opposite side of the car. “I’m getting it done now.”

“That sounds like an excuse.”

Bruce smiles at that. Carefully, he sets his tools aside and pulls himself to his feet. If Clark’s finally in the mood to start a conversation, he doesn’t want to miss it while he’s hiding out under a car. “You’re right, it is an excuse.” He makes his way around to where Clark appears to be admiring one of the retractable machine guns on the hood. “Was it a good excuse?”

“It was a good alibi… at the time. I don’t think it was a good excuse for postponing vehicular maintenance. You haven’t done a thorough inspection for weeks.”

Interesting. He didn’t think Clark was capable of making such a distinction.

“Well, a bad excuse, then. What makes my alibi so good?”

Clark floats from the Batmobile to a nearby workbench. He reaches out a hand but stops short of running his fingers over the surface. “You closed a case. The Lacey Towers explosion, the one you’ve had open for three months. You suspected Black Mask was a person of interest in the murder of his girlfriend, but you think there’s more to it. The case isn’t actually closed.”

Bruce moves up next to Clark, setting a torque wrench in an open box filled with similar tools. “Really? How do you know I didn’t close it for good?”

“Alfred marked the case closed. You opened the file remotely to make changes to it over fourteen hours ago. You did it after your meeting with the chief financial officer of Wayne Enterprises.”

“CFO,” Bruce says. 

Clark blinks down at the variety of tools, as if lost in thought. “CFO. I’ll remember that.”

Bruce pulls a rolling stool closer and takes a seat, resting his elbows on the workbench as Clark moves away. It looks like he’s seeing things for the first time—still cataloguing, maybe. By now he should know every piece of equipment in the room, should be able to deconstruct every gadget, every machine. “Do you know what I’m doing right now?”

“You were fixing the Batmobile. Now you’re testing me.” Clark has drifted around the Fox, just out of sight, but his voice seems to fill the entire hangar. “I’m still a work in progress. You want to see how close you’re getting to a final product.”

Now he moves back into view. Bruce watches him with his chin in his hand. “How close do you think I am?”

“To bringing Clark back to life? Or to replacing him?”

Bruce can feel his jaw clench. He’s been so careful not to bring up either topic when Clark’s around. It’s almost impossible to keep others from mentioning it. “You’ve been spending too much time with Alfred.”

“Alfred doesn’t run the interaction program when you’re not around.”

Frowning, Bruce stands and makes his way to his main computer terminal. He enters a series of commands and finds himself faced with a session log, the earliest of which dates back months. Each activation session has been sorted based on its date, location, the length of the session, and the amount of data processed per session. Bruce has tried to vary the time spent with Clark, and he’s attempted to split his time between the primary computer system in the Batcave and the secondary system in the hangar. Since Bruce has been spending most of his time in the hangar as of late, the sessions run from the Batcave have mostly been supervised by Alfred. Should have been supervised by Alfred.

_WayneTech OS Yango: Thursday. Three hours, thirty two minutes. WayneTech OS Yango: Sunday. Six hours, eight minutes. WayneTech OS Mega: Monday. One hour, three minutes. WayneTech OS Mega: Tuesday. Forty six minutes. WayneTech OS Mega: Wednesday. Nine hours, fifty six minutes. WayneTech OS Mega: Thursday. Fourteen minutes. WayneTech OS Mega: Thursday. Four hours, nine minutes, thirty seven seconds, thirty eight, thirty nine—_

Bruce scrolls through it three times, brow furrowed as he squints at the screen. “The activation log says—”

“The activation log is wrong,” Clark says.

Bruce’s fingers tighten around the mouse.

“I think he knows they’ll find out what you’re doing. He doesn’t want to be blamed for enabling you.” Clark is at his side again, inspecting the ongoing session timer on the screen, the rate of data input, the length of a coherence wave. The data processing graph spikes briefly. “If you want my opinion, I think it’s a good excuse.”

Bruce clicks around. On the screen before them, the _terminate session_ prompt appears. With a short series of keystrokes, the space next to Bruce flickers and goes dark.

_WayneTech OS Mega: Thursday. Four hours, ten minutes, two seconds._

Bruce takes a steadying breath.

For a moment he remains hunched over the console, his palms flat on either side of the keyboard. The computer hums in the background but the rest of the hangar has gone quiet. It’s the middle of the night and he should go to bed. His ribs are aching from an earlier blow, and he’ll never be able to finish his work on the Batmobile before dawn. There’s nothing keeping him here, not with the session terminated. It won’t kill him to begin uploading a new database and just go to bed.

The _initiate session_ prompt appears on the screen. Bruce’s fingers blur over the keys. _WayneTech OS Mega: Friday. One second, two seconds—_

The pedestal on the back wall of the hangar lights up. Clark flickers to life in the empty space above it, hovering above the smooth metal circle with his arms crossed over his chest. It’s not his default startup position. He’s getting smarter. Bruce feels a small swell of pride, but it’s swallowed quickly by something else. He ignores it.

“Has Alfred been uploading files from the database after terminating the sessions?”

Clark crosses the room, cape billowing behind him as he moves. There’s no gentle gust of wind when he settles on the ground next to Bruce, and the light that makes up his body is reflected on the computer screen, rendering the digital readout nearly impossible to read. “Fifty-nine percent has been uploaded. I still have a lot of information to process. I find something new every time you run the program.”

Now Bruce sinks into his chair with a sigh. That’s better than halting the data upload completely. He should probably consider himself lucky that Alfred hasn’t terminated the project altogether. “Christ. That explains why it took the AI so long to activate.”

“I’m doing my best to keep up,” Clark says, unapologetic. “I’ll get the hang of this soon. I’ve nearly perfected the audio output.”

Bruce rubs his hand over his face and doesn’t respond. He simply stares at the data presented on the screen in front of him until Clark says, “For the record, I think you’re keeping up just fine.”

He glances up and finds that Clark’s gaze is now fixed on him.

Basic expressions were simple to animate, but it had proven more difficult to program a personality. The way his eyebrows draw together when he concentrates, the inquisitive tilt of his head, the way his lips press together in disapproval, each facial tic and postural change... all challenging to program and animate, and harder still to perfect. It was nearly impossible to determine the exact colour of Clark’s eyes. Up close, the segmental heterochromia is crystal-clear. He’d had to scour thousands of internet videos to pull enough audio to properly recreate Clark’s voice. He can't remember how many recordings he's put on a loop, or how many times he's let them run.

Clark seems bothered by what he sees on Bruce’s face. He frowns. He almost looks genuinely sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Bruce. This isn’t what you wanted, is it?”

The thing standing in front of him isn’t quite Clark. _That’s_ what he wanted.

Still, it’s not bad.

Not bad at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Created partially for the 2018 SRB Writing Challenge (Week Three, _a slightly shittier parallel universe_ ), but mostly was created to compensate for WB's removal of a specific hologram scene. Originally posted on my blog in a shorter, more condensed form.
> 
> OS names come from chiroptera suborders: _yangochiroptera_ and _megachiroptera_. Also featuring a not-so-subtle Arkham Origins reference.


End file.
